


crumple up all those love notes

by GreyishBlue



Series: write me something better [1]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Also what I would have liked to happen at the end of the comic, Gift Art, Hawkeye Clint Barton, Just two dudes flirting a little bit, M/M, Post-Canon, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Tales Of Suspense: Hawkeye and The Winter Soldier, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, post TOS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 09:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21052472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyishBlue/pseuds/GreyishBlue
Summary: Post Tales of Suspense, both Bucky and Clint get a letter from Natasha. And honestly they're both too tired to deal with this shit.





	crumple up all those love notes

**Author's Note:**

> Winterhawk Bingo Square: Tales of Suspsense
> 
> Now with gorgeous art by Mags!  
https://greyishbobbi.tumblr.com/post/621296430131331072/

The firelight from the still burning mansion behind them catches on the edges of Bucky’s concentrated frown, and Clint tries his best not to feel bad about it. The guy is down an arm, the last few days have been some new definition of chaos even Clint has a hard time wrapping his head around, and Nat has somehow ghosted them both. Again. 

They’re sitting on a grimy moss covered rock and waiting for a lot of overly suspicious police officers to clear them so they can catch a ride home. Clint is reading a note that Nat shoved in his pocket god-knows-when during the night. He’s doing his best to focus on it and not let his eyes drift over to the bedraggled grumpfest sitting next to him. When he gets to the bit about ‘ _ don’t show this to Barnes, _ ’, he feels a little jolt of anger alongside the empty feeling he’s had since he realized Nat was gone to the wind again.

Clint sighs as he runs soot covered fingers over Nat’s words scrawled into the paper. With a shrug he nudges Bucky with his shoulder, presses the letter into Bucky’s remaining hand. The other man is stiff against his side, still pretty clearly filled with the adrenaline of surviving the kind of bullshit they just went through. But he takes it, smooths the paper against his thigh carefully and scans it almost clinically. He tenses further as he reads the contents, then settles into the kind of sniper still that sends chills down Clint’s spine. 

After long enough that Clint starts considering just getting up and walking home, lack of shoes be damned, Bucky stirs and reaches into one of the pockets of his vest. He fishes out a folded scrap of paper similar to the one Clint had given him, then drops it in Clint’s lap like he can’t get rid of it fast enough. When Clint makes no move to pick it up, Bucky nearly growls at him, “Well go ahead, made me read yours, idiot.”   
  
Clint wants very badly just to throw the letter into the mud at their feet, just to be an ass to Bucky, but he unfolds it with slightly shaky hands instead. It’s strikingly similar to the one she had left for him, and everything about this feels like it’s dripping with Widow schemes. He’s suddenly a new kind of tired, something more heavy on his heart than his aching back. Clint lets his head fall into his hands, scrubs through his ash and rain damp hair with his fingers. 

He startles a little when he feels Bucky’s leg nudging against his, just the warm pressure of a thigh with some knives strapped to it. He tilts his head to look through his fingers over at the other man, giving exactly no fucks that he might look ridiculous doing so. “What?” He mutters partially into his palms.   
  


“This is all bullshit.” Bucky’s got a twist to his mouth that could almost be called a smile, if one were generous.   
  
“That’s a given, pal.”   
  
“I’m not going to meet her.” Bucky’s voice is a little quieter, and his eyes flash over almost guiltily at Clint when he says it.   
  
“Me neither.” Clint shrugs like it’s no big deal that they’re both agreeing to crossing Nat. He knows she’ll still be safe if he doesn’t go to the meeting, and that she’s got plenty of ways of contacting either of them if she really needs help. But the chase, the game? Clint has had enough of that for right now.

Once Clint’s agreed with him, Bucky slumps down like his strings have been cut. He’s still on guard in that slinky alley cat way that’s built into his bones, but it’s clear he’s decided to at least stop worrying about Clint by his side. They’re both too tired to say much of anything to each other, but they keep their legs pressed together, like something solid might help hold back the exhaustion.

Eventually they stumble their way into the back of a police car, manage to explain there’s not really somewhere they’re staying, and end up getting dropped off at a small roadside motel as close to the edge of town as the polite and terrified cop can get them. Bucky stays outside, since he’s definitely the more obviously exploded of the two of them, and Clint walks into the small lamp lit office to get them a room. He emerges with a goofy grin, spinning a little keyfob around a finger as he leads the way to a room near the back of the building.    
  
What little enthusiasm Clint managed to work up about actually having a room to sleep in slips away from him once he opens the door. The room is nice enough, dated but tidy, with fixtures that probably saw their hay-day in the early 80’s at best. Clint’s stuck on the single bed against the wall and the lack of a couch. He quickly stows the thought it in the ‘ _ problems for Clint an hour from now _ ’ file and makes his way to the bathroom. He’s desperate for a shower, so he hurries, stripping his clothes and letting them fall to the floor on his way.

He only realizes that he kind of maybe sort of just stripped down in front of Bucky once he’s under the hot spray of the shower, and has just enough decency left in his tired body to work up a blush. Clint scrubs himself clean of smoke smell and weird experimental tank goo as quickly and efficiently as he can, wraps a towel around his waist once he’s done. Putting the clothes he’d worn before back on would be super gross at this point, and Clint is just… so done with the day.   
  
Bucky is sitting on the corner of the lone bed when Clint shuffles out, looking some new kind of grumpy Clint hadn’t catalogued before. Not that he’s keeping track of Bucky and the faces he makes. Clint drops himself into the middle of the bed, arms and legs starfished out and towel barely keeping him covered. There’s an indignant squawk from Bucky when Clint’s ankle hits him, and it’s such a weird sound coming from such an intimidating guy that Clint dissolves into laughter. 

Clint’s wheezing for breath, trying desperately to stop tears from coming out of his eyes, and realizing he’s probably way too tired and loopy to do anything other than pass out. He pulls himself together as well as he can when he hears Bucky ask something in that weird halting way that Clint knows means he’s uncomfortable asking. He tilts his head up so he can see Bucky, asks, “What was that?”   
  
“Help me with my arm so I can shower?” It’s almost an order but almost a request and Clint sees how Bucky’s hating to admit to needing help, so he doesn’t comment. He goes and fishes out the plastic bag from one of the little trashcans, rummages through the grimy pouches of his tac belt to look for some tape. When he can’t find any he looks up at Bucky apologetically, to see the other man is already shuffling in one of his pouches and holding out some medical tape to him. 

Once he’s got the supplies in hand, Clint makes quick work of bagging the jagged metal edges of Bucky’s stump, secures it as well as he can so Bucky won’t have to worry about it when he showers. He steps back and sketches a lazy salute in the air to Bucky, “All done, Sarge. Anythin’ else you need help with?” Clint’s got some desperate hope that the humor will edge out the weird warmth he felt being able to help the other guy out with something. 

“What’re you gonna do, soldier? Undress me?” There’s a predatory tilt to Bucky’s mouth and a glint in his eyes and  _ fuck _ . Clint suddenly understands those bits in the history books that describe James Buchanan Barnes as a ruthless charmer. The moment passes, and Bucky blinks like he didn’t expect quite those words in that tone to come out of his mouth. He stands quickly, lacking at least half his usual grace, and practically flees to the shower.

  
Clint stares at the corner of the bed Bucky had occupied for a few minutes, trying to wrap his head around what the hell and how and also why? It doesn’t help so he eventually retrieves his thankfully in decent shape boxers, slips them on, and gets under the covers of the bed. He scoots over as far to one side as he can comfortably get, and tries to plan what to say to Bucky when the guy gets out of the shower.   
  
Clint wakes up a few minutes later when he feels the bed dip behind him. He turns lazily, sees Bucky settling himself under the blankets, and part of his brain tries to panic. Bucky glares at him the second he goes to open his mouth, so he stops.    
  
“Just… I’m too tired to argue about this right now, ok? Can we just sleep and this not be weird?” Bucky looks every bit as exhausted as Clint feels, and his eyes look almost pleading if you ignore the grumpy eyebrows.    
  
Clint just nods, since that was nearly what he had planned to say anyway, and relaxes back into the mattress. Sleep catches up to him before any other worries can.


End file.
